Van Bibber and Others eBook

Phillips did not reply to this, and the general only
shook his head doubtfully and said nothing. So
Mrs. Trevelyan looked at Lady Arbuthnot, and the ladies
rose and left the room. When the men had left
them, a young girl went to the piano, and the other
women seated themselves to listen; but Miss Egerton,
saying that it was warm, stepped out through one of
the high windows on to the little balcony that overhung
the garden. It was dark out there and cool, and
the rumbling of the encircling city sounded as distant
and as far off as the reflection seemed that its million
lights threw up to the sky above. The girl leaned
her face and bare shoulder against the rough stone
wall of the house, and pressed her hands together,
with her fingers locking and unlocking and her rings
cutting through her gloves. She was trembling
slightly, and the blood in her veins was hot and tingling.
She heard the voices of the men as they entered the
drawing-room, the momentary cessation of the music
at the piano, and its renewal, and then a figure blocked
the light from the window, and Gordon stepped out
of it and stood in front of her with the chain and
locket in his hand. He held it towards her, and
they faced each other for a moment in silence.

“Will you take it now?” he said.

The girl raised her head, and drew herself up until
she stood straight and tall before him. “Have
you not punished me enough?” she asked, in a
whisper. “Are you not satisfied? Was
it brave? Was it manly? Is that what you
have learned among your savages—­to torture
a woman?” She stopped with a quick sob of pain,
and pressed her hands against her breast.

Gordon observed her, curiously, with cold consideration.
“What of the sufferings of the man to whom you
gave this?” he asked. “Why not consider
him? What was your bad quarter of an hour at the
table, with your friends around you, to the year he
suffered danger and physical pain for you—­for
you, remember?”

The girl hid her face for a moment in her hands, and
when she lowered them again her cheeks were wet and
her voice was changed and softer. “They
told me he was dead,” she said. “Then
it was denied, and then the French papers told of
it again, and with horrible detail, and how it happened.”

Gordon took a step nearer her. “And does
your love come and go with the editions of the daily
papers?” he asked, fiercely. “If they
say to-morrow morning that Arbuthnot is false to his
principles or his party, that he is a bribe-taker,
a man who sells his vote, will you believe them and
stop loving him?” He gave a sharp exclamation
of disdain. “Or will you wait,” he
went on, bitterly, “until the Liberal organs
have had time to deny it? Is that the love, the
life, and the soul you promised the man who—­”

There was a soft step on the floor of the drawing-room,
and the tall figure of young Arbuthnot appeared in
the opening of the window as he looked doubtfully
out into the darkness. Gordon took a step back
into the light of the window, where he could be seen,
and leaned easily against the railing of the balcony.
His eyes were turned towards the street, and he noticed
over the wall the top of a passing omnibus and the
glow of the men’s pipes who sat on it.